


maroon

by remremy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remremy/pseuds/remremy
Summary: John smiles even wider, and murmurs, "Do you want me to kiss you, Sherlock?" He blushes once again and nods- once, firmly.





	

Sherlock walks out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning loudly, stopping by the kitchen table and stretching his back until he hears it pop. He groans and lets his arms drop to his sides, glancing around the sitting room.

The room is bathed in faint golden colors, the sun just barely peaking over the horizon. John wont be up for a few hours, and he remembers an experiment that he had wanted to conduct. He notices one of John's cardigans, the maroon one, laying across the back of John's chair. He steps over and picks it up in one hand, the fabric soft and worn with time. He smiles gently and folds it, setting it on the table as he walks around it to sit on his stood, dragging the microscope closer to him.

Sherlock is reaching for a slide a few minutes later when he spots the cardigan again. He becomes aware that he's only wearing a thin t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and the room is rather cold. He reaches out and tugs the garment closer, slipping it on.

Its a little too short in the sleeves and length, and the shoulders are are a bit baggy on him, but its soft and warm and still smells like John's cologne and tea and home and _safety_ and he wraps it tighter around him.

A few hours pass, and Sherlock hears the springs in John's bed squeak above him, signaling that John is going to get up soon. He's proven right, of course, when John stumbles down the stairs ten minutes later, pillow creases on his cheek and hair mussed to one side. Sherlock contains the urge to smooth it down with his fingers, to curl his fingers around John's jaw and tilt-

"'Morning," John rumbles, breaking Sherlock out of his fantasy and into reality. He looks up and offers John a small smile- he wont be expecting and answer anyway, and Sherlock's not sure that he can trust what would come out of his mouth if he were to speak right now, still caught up in the vision of John's face between his hands, stubble catching on his palms, his breath skittering across his cheeks, the morning sunlight catching the silver in his hair, thin lips twitching up into a soft, tender smile.

John clanks around in the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove to boil as he leans against the counter and rubs at his eyes with a sigh. Sherlock goes back to scribble notes in his notebook, and is just turning back to his microscope when he feels John beside him. He looks up and to his left, where John is looking down at him with a small smile and he plucks at Sherlock's sleeve.

"Isn't this mine?" he asks, amused.

Sherlock flushes up to his ears; he'd forgotten that he'd been wearing it. "I- It got cold and I didn't feel like turning on the heat, and it was on your chair so i just g-"

John interrupts him by grabbing Sherlock's hand where it's clutching the hem of the cardigan and squeezing gently, and Sherlock flushes again and shuts his mouth.

"No its- fine," John assures him, and smiles _that_ smile at him again, the one that gives Sherlock a faint swooping sensation in his stomach, and he gives one back.

They stand there, smiling at each other and holding hands in the middle of their sitting room, for a few minutes before John moves. He slots their fingers together and runs a hand along Sherlock's cheek, just barely making contact. Sherlock's breath catches, and John squeezes his hand again.

Leaning forward slowly, as if giving him time to move away, John rests their foreheads together and links the fingers of their free hands together and lifts them to him mouth, eyes closing, and presses one kiss to each of his ten knuckles.

Sherlock's own eyes close, and he bites his lip softly and opens his eyes. John is looking at him softly, eyes creasing at the corners and his lips stretching into a tentative smile. Sherlock smiles back at him in return, lifting his chin and adverting his eyes.

John smiles even wider, and murmurs, "Do you want me to kiss you, Sherlock?" He blushes once again and nods- once, firmly. John's palm slides along his jaw lightly, guiding his face into position and tilts it to the side, and bestows one solid kiss directly onto his mouth. Sherlock can feel John's grin at the end of it, and John backs off with a small smack and Sherlock shivers.

"How was that?" John whispers teasingly. Sherlock's eyes are still closed- he doesn't even remember closing them in the first place- and he nods once again and pushes forward blindly.

Their lips meet too hard, and John drops his other hand guides them both to his own waist, where Sherlock grips the soft fabric of John's old army t-shirt. John grabs Sherlock's face and guides them together again, sliding one to the back of his head and gently rubbing circles into his scalp.

Sherlock feels adrift in sensation, of John's hand on his jaw, in his hair, John's thin lips against his own full ones, John's breath hitting his cheek, and he gasps out a sob. John immediately stops the kiss, and Sherlock makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

"What?" John asks. Sherlock opens his eyes and sees John's concern and knits his eyebrows together.

"What?" Sherlock parrots.

"Are you alright?" He drops his hands to Sherlock's shoulders and rubs- down to his elbows, up to his neck- as his eyes skitter across Sherlock's features.

"Its just- John, I." He stops to gather his thoughts.

"John," he begins again. "Why are you doing this." His voice shakes slightly and he looks at a point over John's shoulder. John tilts his head and opens his mouth to speak, but Sherlock continues. "I- is this because of M- Mary..." but John is shaking his head violently, grabbing Sherlock's face and forcing him to make eye contact again.

"Sherlock, I need you to listen to me- can you do that?" Sherlock hesitates, then nods. "Okay. Sherlock. I know- Look, we've both made mistakes in the past but- That is." He takes a deep breath. "Sherlock, I lo-" Sherlock's breath catches and his eyes widen. "I _love_ you, don't you understand. I- I've been _in love_ with you for _so long_ and-" Sherlock interrupts him by grabbing John's face and dragging him in kissing him with the extremely limited knowledge that he has, but takes all of his emotions, the love, his longing, he tells John of the pain of his two years away, the heartbreak of watching John marry someone _not him_ , and pours it into the kiss.

John covers Sherlock's hands on his face with this own, thumbs smoothing over the backs of them, and Sherlock sobs a bit into their kiss, eyes burning and tears collecting under his eyelashes. John echos it back to him, hands sliding under his armpits to haul him to standing, then moving back to rest one on the back of his neck and the other in the center of his spine. Sherlock's shaking hands stroke John's cheekbones, feeling the moisture and wiping it away.

Sherlock breaks the kiss when he remembers to breath- _ugh, breathing's boring_ \- and puts their foreheads together again. John's breath is drying the tears left on his cheeks, and John's thumbs smooth them away.

"John," Sherlock rasps. John smiles and his hand slips under the hem of his old t-shirt to stroke the bare skin of his back. "John," he says again,"I love you." John breathes out a chuckles, then another, until he's full-body laughing against Sherlock.

"John," he tries to chide, before giggling along with him wrapping his arms tightly around John's shoulders and hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

"We- We look ridiculous," John gasps out. Sherlock nods his agreement. "Two grown men, crying in the kitchen." They both dissolve into laughter again, and it takes them a few more minutes to settle down.

John moves away and Sherlock makes a sound of disapproval. John goes to the couch and sits down, picking up the remote and turning the telly on. Sherlock walks over and stands at the end of the couch, shifting from foot to foot nervously. Did John move away because he wanted to be alone? Would he be okay with Sherlock sitting next to him? What-

"Sherlock?" John asks.

"John?"

"Did you... Want to. Sit down maybe?"

"Huh? Oh! Oh, yes, actually, um, I'll just," Sherlock mumbles to himself, mostly, as he steps over the arm rest and curls up next to John, but not touching. John's eyes never leave the screen- he's picked some sort of nature channel- but he brings his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and drags him down against him. Sherlock slides down even more, his head resting in John's lap and his face buried in John's stomach. He sighs quietly as John's fingers begin to comb through Sherlock's hair and he snuggles down into John's lap, beginning to doze off already.

"You know, maroon is more your color than it is mine, apparently," John says, but Sherlock has already fallen asleep.


End file.
